


Various Storms and Chaos

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Ancient Rome, Epic Friendship, Gen, Gladiators, Heist, Minor Violence, Swordfighting, Team Voltron Family, Team as Family, idk i'm not sure if there will be ships yet, if so no main pairings, mostly i just like writing about, possibly depends on if i write more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Emperor Zarkon rules a powerful and devastating empire. The old line of Alfor has died and the dreadful lions of that House have never been seen again. But Allura, guided by visions, seeks to take back the throne of the Roman Empire, and do so with the help of a mishmash of paladins who comes from less than esteemed backgrounds.I.e.Voltron is set in Ancient Rome and the characters get into epic shenanigans with each other while trying to save the world





	Various Storms and Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> So I was bored and decided to write a Voltron roman!au fic. I figured I’d put it up here since it's a good bit of writing, (though idk if I'll ever complete it sorry).
> 
> Minor warning for violence cuz every good Roman Empire AU needs a gladiator battle of course.

Dust kicked up into Shiro’s eyes and he gagged, furiously swiping at his face. He tucked and rolled onto his back, lurching forward so his feet landed squarely in the center of his opponent’s chest. He could hear the man’s ribcage crack from the force and the man doubled over, coughing up blood.

Shiro ignored him, now a lesser threat, and spun on his heels to face the other fighter. A jagged sword cut through the air next to his shoulder. He startled back in surprise for a second. It was long enough for his new opponent to bash Shiro’s head with his shield.

The world jolted and he collapsed into the dirt, rolling on his side and grabbing blindly for a weapon. Instead his fingers brushed against the leather of the weaker fighter’s belt, and he tugged hard, dragging the man with him to barrel forward into the stronger gladiator. All three men tumbled and spun, dirt clouds rising. He’d lost a shoe somewhere. His leg ran red with blood crusted in the light dirt of the arena.

His two opponents struggled up, swords raised. The stronger one spat.

“This ends now, filth!”

Shiro didn’t bother hiding his smirk, lips cracking into a lopsided grin. The less experienced gladiators were so eager to act like they were on a personal quest for revenge. A fallen brother. A wounded friend. All at the hands of the mighty Champion.

He bared his teeth and decided to play along, circling the two as they backed up, raising his sword to catch the light pouring in from around the giant sunshades high above. The crowd roared in approval and Shiro waited until one of the men lunged at him to strike. A swift crack and the hilt of his sword bashed against the young man’s temple, knocking him out instantly. Another surrounding cheer. The call of his gladiator name was beginning to run through waves of the front rows as the Champion prowled across the arena floor towards his prey.

Whereas Shiro’s movements were sleek and calculated, his opponent moved like an actor performing on stage, wild gestures and chest spread as if appearing larger would intimidate Shiro.

“What’s your name?” Shiro asked. The crowd hushed to a rumbling silence. This was their favorite part, but Shiro did not do this for entertainment value. A strict policy since his first day as a gladiator: only kill those who you may greet in the afterlife by name.

“I know your tricks, I won’t give you the satisfaction!” the man hissed, eyebrows furrowed and mouth twisted in a snarl, “I will be victorious!”

Shiro lowered his body as he prepared to charge, “Then farewell Victorious, I hope they give you a more fitting name in elysium.”

He lunged. The air around him stilled and his muscles braced for impact. His fist pummeled into the man’s jaw as his leg swiveled to trip him from behind. At the last moment, his opponent grappled for his belt and dragged him down.

Their landing pounded time back into motion, no longer individual movement but hectic frenzy. Shiro rammed his fist into the man’s side and he heard a yelp, as they both struggled to regain footing. Another fist, a leg, an elbow to the back. He winced as a blade flicked his shoulder. Too close. Too close.

He ripped the shield from the man’s other arm and the crowd roared. But there cheers quickly transformed into stunned shrieks. It took a moment for Shiro to realise. The pain hit him like a lightning bolt.

_Oh gods._

There was a dagger. Unlike anything he’d ever seen. Jagged and glowing like sapphires. And it was halfway through his upper forearm before he could process its existence. Somewhere, in the back of his brain, he heard his old doctore chastising him about believing there was such a thing as a guaranteed win. A life beyond the next match. Sitting on his knees being trained how to die with duty and honor as his doctore swung a sword mere inches from his neck, daring Shiro to blink.

_Die with duty. Die with honor. Die to enter elysium._

He could not hear the crowd anymore, nor anything that his opponent was saying, now standing above him, waiting for him to get up onto his knees. He tried to use his arm to balance himself and found nothing there, collapsing onto the dirt. He tried again to get up.

As he looked up, he found the man staring into his eyes. He was laboriously panting, and the shock in his eyes was clear. He had defeated the Champion, against all odds.

“What… what’s your name?” the man asked, sword held shakily within Shiro’s eyesight, “I mean, your real name?”

Shiro could barely understand him through the fog quickly encroaching onto his mind, but he offered a smile and answered, “Takashi. It means esteem and honor.”

The man nodded slowly, offered a gesture of respect, and then raised his sword. Shiro braced himself and listened to hear for the chaos of the crowds, but it did not come. The gladiator seemed to notice the silence too, and he looked up towards the stands in confusion. As he did, the doors on the arena floor opened and a hooded figure stepped out, followed by several guards. She pointed at Shiro and they rushed towards him, barely giving the other gladiator a passing glance.

Shiro opened his mouth but no sound came out, and his body collapsed from the loss of blood. The guards were upon him as his vision faded, and as they carried him away all his senses dissolved, leaving him stranded in a vast darkness.

\----------------------------------

The sea foam stung with the bite of an early morning chill, lapping around Keith’s feet as he winced and lifted his right leg in the air, only to have the sting of salt replaced by wind. He grimaced at the wound; jagged but thankfully shallow. The saltwater dripped down around where mud was still caked between his toes, and he groaned, eyes sliding shut. He tried to pull himself away from the aches in his body, concentrating on the peaceful beach around him. The air was sharp and cold, but with it came the scent of the ocean, and he could hear the faint calls of birds.

Then splashing. Someone rushing towards him.

His eyes snapped open and he whirled around, squinting into the sun as a silhouette appeared. Keith had his knife drawn before the motion even registered. He swung towards the intruder, but the knife was slapped out of his hand and his arm was wrenched, shoving him down as his knees smacked onto the pebbly shore.

 _Perfect_. Even more scrapes he would have to tend to later.

“You are weak and vulnerable here. Yet you stand out in the shallows as if you were Neptune himself.” a voice growled in his ear.

Keith gritted his teeth. After he’d stumbled away from the field he’d been dizzy and distracted, desperate for the sea to cleanse his wounds and his body of the stench of battle. Years of training and yet at his weakest he’d been careless. He stilled his breath, carefully noting his attacker’s position.

“What do you know of the blue lion?” the voice hissed, hands digging into his arms, “I know you found it, you’re hiding its location.”

He frowned. A lion… those were rare enough along this stretch of land. He’d only seen one or two when scouting ahead of the centuria he’d belonged to, and there were certainly no lions so mystical as to be blue.

A knee jabbed at his side and he winced, doubling over. His attacker loomed over him, gripping his arms and keeping a knee firmly planted on his back. But the person wasn't heavy, just strong and sharp-eyed enough to recognise any minute motion Keith made to attempt escape.

Keith eventually relented, releasing a long sigh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

To his surprise, the grip relaxed, and then his attacker let him go. He stumbled forward on elbows and knees, and flipped over, raising a hand over his eyes to get a proper look at the stranger.

“Terribly sorry about that kick to the back, had to make sure you wouldn’t run off.” a man with startling red hair said. He scratched his chin, head tilted to the side, “After all the tracking I’ve been doing, it’d be a shame if you wandered off and got yourself killed all because you were desperate for a bathe.”

Keith squinted and rubbed his neck, “You are… a Northman?”

“Hmm? Oh, you mean the hair.” the man smiled proudly. He plucked at his moustache and glanced back towards the sea, “We’re a bit exposed here, don’t you think? Probably best if we carry on somewhere else.”

Keith picked up his knife and stood, falling automatically into defense position.

“I think we’ve already established that’s not going to do you any good. Come on, quick step!” the man marched away, whistling as if he was on a morning stroll. Why he didn’t simply knock Keith unconscious and kidnap him he didn’t know, but as Keith remembered the field of fallen comrades not even a mile away, he groaned in resignation and followed. He had nowhere else to go. Unless of course he planned on drowning in the sea or risking journeying into enemy-controlled lands. Compared to either, the madman from the north was harmless.

Keith limped along on his injured leg until he caught up, “So, this blue lion you’re looking for?”

“Yes?” the man hummed noncommittally.

“Well… I mean what is it? Why do you seek such a beast, if it even exists?”

“Oh it exists alright, but it’s not a real lion.” the man noticed Keith’s raised eyebrow and laughed, “You really don’t know do you? Well, that puts a stick in the wheel now doesn’t it? We were hoping you’d know; that you would feel some sort of power drawing you close to it. She was sure you were one of them.”

 _She? Them?_ Keith shook his head, wincing at a headache that was already starting to form. Nothing had properly sunk in yet. Not ten minutes ago he had been limping away from battle, most of his comrades killed by arrow or sword. Before that, he had marched with the infantry for miles upon miles, till he no longer felt his feet or knew what day it was. Nothing in his training had prepared him for sliding in the mud, scrambling for a lost weapon, crawling to safety when he knew he was leaving others to certain death.

And now he was walking down a rocky coast with a madman who spoke no sense, but was just efficient enough in hand-to-hand combat to take down a weary and injured Roman soldier.

“Your name?” he asked after a long silence, “You treat me like an enemy, then a friend, but you are only a stranger to me.”

The man turned around with an odd twinkle in his eye, “Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe. Please, try to contain yourself, I know you must be shocked to meet someone such as I.”

“Who?”

Coran halted, “Who? _Who?_ ” he humphed, “A simple country boy then, I see. If we were back in Rome I’d have hoards of women swooning in the streets.”

“You are insane.” Keith muttered under his breath.

“And a dangerous tracker who bested you, don’t forget.” Coran grinned, marching away.

Keith groaned and closed his eyes, blindly following the sound of Coran’s rambling. This was going to be a very long walk.

\----------------------------------

She’d been plagued by the nightmares again, causing her to toss and turn in her sleep, waking sweat-drenched and hair hanging in a tangled mess. The first time it had happened, her screams had woken the entire villa. It was Coran who’d been awake at the late hour, and he’d almost kicked the door down ready to fight an intruder, only to find Allura huddled in her bed sobbing. She’d been so young.

“What does it mean?” she’d mumbled through tears.

Even back then, Coran hadn’t lied to her; _couldn’t_ lie to her. But even with his simplistic descriptions he could not help make sense of the bizarre imagery that accompanied the memories.

_Allura was born from fire._

That was how it always started. She would awaken in a burning house, stumbling down a hallway, coughing and rubbing soot from her eyes. Tripping, the floor was stone and it cracked under the heat, stained with blood from people she did not recognise. Figures rushed past her, large demons that could not see the invisible child on the floor. A breeze rustled through scorched drapes, crawling along Allura’s skin like fire ants. She wanted to scream. Sometimes she did scream.

The demons passed but there was a low growl. One which she’d found over the years was there to comfort, not to scare her. It was why the demons did not see her, why she was invisible to them. The lion was protecting her. It was a sleek black creature with eyes of gold and a hide of carved obsidian. It crawled through the doorway, brushing past the drapes and lowering itself to where she could climb on. It carried her out of the burning house, away from the screams and the demons.

From there the dreams lost all sense, shooting off into a myriad of endings. Sometimes the lion dropped her. Sometimes it was being hunted. Other times the black lion was joined by others, all bizarrely coloured and forged of craftwork. If the nightmare was particularly bad, she would even see faint memories of her father’s face before he was killed. None of the lions saved him, ever, in any dream.

Tonight things were different. She lay in the hallway, and the demons rushed past her, ignoring her screeches of pain. But the black lion did not arrive and the nightmare continued as she lay there, helpless to move. From out of the clouds of smoke appeared a set of broad feet, belonging to a towering, broad-shouldered figure. He grinned down at her with a fanged smile, crouching so that his eyes seared into hers.

_“Found you.” he taunted, voice cutting into her soul._

She awoke with a jolt. Coran stood over her, shaking her awake as he said something she could not understand. Her vision was blurry as she sat up stiffly, clothes clinging to her skin.

“Princess? Princess are you alright? I could very well hear you screaming from the other side of the villa!” Coran said, backing off to give Allura breathing space.

She frowned, trying to concentrate on how the dream had ended. Something about it had been different… there had been a man… _oh_. She sat up straight with a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“It was Emperor Zarkon. In my dream, he found me. I think he intended to kill me.” she recounted, trying to hide the slight shake in her voice.

Coran offered her a comforting smile and sat down next to her on the bed, “It didn’t happen like that, if that helps. He’s not going to find you, not even after all these years. We’ve made plenty sure of that.”

Allura shook her head, “I know you mean well, but it… these dreams, they always change, they always seem to have meaning. They might not be accurate but surely they must... “ she turned and planted her feet on the ground, looking Coran squarely in the eye, “Is it possible that these are visions?”

Coran fiddled with his moustache as he lapsed into thought. It was one of his more endearing habits that she’d learned to recognise from years of study taught by her fiery-haired pedagogue. Nobody ever officially addressed Coran as “Pedagogue” though, not even the household servants. He was always Magistri.

“Well, I suppose it’s not unheard of. Because your dreams were based on what little memory you have of your father’s death, I assumed it was akin to my occasional dreams of the same event.” he scratched his skin, “However… there is the matter of those lions that we never quite figured out.”

Allura leaned forward, “Are you sure my father never mentioned them, not even symbolic lions?”

“We’ve been over this a hundred times, princess.” his shoulders slumped, “They are either meaningless, or... I suppose it’s possible that they hold prophetic interpretation.”

There was a knock at the door. A servant slipped their head in and nodded towards them, “Magistri. Princess. There is someone at the front gates who wishes to speak with you.”

Coran immediately stood up, “Can you describe them? What do they look like? Man? Woman?”

The servant shifted uncomfortably, “I am not entirely sure.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

\----------------------------------

They’d been hunting for days. The brambles along the animal path snagged against his tunic as he crouched between bushes, one eye closed as the other focused on a boar across the meadow. He could barely see the beast, but they would be able to feed off it for days and thus avoid buying from villages for a little while longer.

He slowly released his breath. Hand flexed around the notch of his bow. As his body stilled, he released the arrow and it whooshed across the field, landing in the thigh of the creature. His fellow hunters chased after the wounded boar, one of them staying behind to pat him on the shoulder.

“Good aim, Lance. I didn’t think you would strike this far away! My stomach’s glad to have been wrong.”

Lance grinned at his friend, slinging his bow over his back, “Did you bet against me, Hunk?”

Hunk rolled his eyes, “ _No_ , I’m not that dumb. I just wish I’d bet in your favor so I could see the look on Ulaz’s face when he’d pay me.”

“Aww, he's just like that because he’s the emperor’s favorite. And _I’m_ on the hunt because of my skill.”

Some of the others in the group rolled their eyes or hid smirks behind their hands. Ulaz, the rival in question, marched up just then with two other men, all panting as they carried the boar to dump in front of Hunk.

Hunk took a step back, “You expect me to lug this back to the camp all on my own? I’m the cook, not the hired muscle.”

“You’re stronger than all of us and you know it.” Ulaz said, “We’ll grab it by the rear legs if you lift in the front.” he nodded to Lance, “You make sure we don’t trip over something.”

Lance threw a lazy salute and then stepped into formation next to Hunk, who hauled the boar up by its two front legs. The rest of the men either lifted in the back or made up the perimetre of scouts.

Between all of them, they’d been sent on a hunt to track down a lion fit for Emperor Zarkon to slay as a symbol of the right of his family lineage to the throne. It was all overly pompous and political and nothing Lance cared about. He was far more satisfied sticking to trails and fields and staring down the length of an arrow.

 _Still, it would have helped if he’d given us something more specific than ‘Hunt down the Golden Lion.’_ Lance thought. As if all lions weren’t yellow. They’d tracked down a few but it’d been in vain, as he would point one out to Ulaz who would shake his head, insisting Zarkon had demanded bigger.

By the time they made it back to camp his stomach was already growling impatiently. He ignored the pangs of hunger and settled down near Hunk to help him with preparing the meal, sitting together in companionable silence as they often did.

After awhile though, it became apparent Hunk had something on his mind, and Lance scooted closer to him, gently tapping his shoulder to draw him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, you okay? You looked a bit distracted there for a moment.”

Hunk bit his lip and turned back to his work, sprinkling herbs into a pot of stew. He shrugged, “Do you ever miss your family, Lance? I mean… we’ve been on this hunt for two weeks, longer if you count traveling to the capital. Do you think they miss us?”

Lance settled back and looked out over the rolling hills of the countryside, “Well I know they probably miss an extra pairs of hands out in the fields, and my abuela always enjoyed my help with her threadwork. But once I come back with pockets full of coins I think they’ll get over my absence.”

He shot an easy grin at Hunk, who knew by now that just because Lance was smiling did not mean he was as confident as he seemed.

“Yeah, same here.” Hunk shifted, going back to stirring the stew, “How much longer do you think we’ll be out here?”

“Oh, probably a few more days. Why do you ask?”

Hunk was silent for a long while. Lance was about to let the question go when his friend spoke up, “I don’t know, it’s just… I’ve been feeling kind of weird these past couple days.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe, I feel like _we’re_ the ones being hunted.”

Lance straightened up, suddenly more serious. If it were anyone else he would have probably laughed it off, but Hunk had always been gifted with a keen sense of intuition. That and, loathe as he was to admit it to even himself, Lance too had been nervous lately.

He scooted closer and leaned in, whispering, “You feel it too? Like some sort of energy? Like… uh, like a storm. That feeling you get when a storm is approaching and everything else goes silent?”

Hunk turned to him with dark eyes sharply focused on him, “Yeah, except _way_ more intense. It gets worse every day. I feel like a storm is coming, and I can’t decide whether I’m excited or terrified.”

Lance sat in silence, stunned.

Just then, their conversation was broken by the thundering roar of something huge very close by. All of the men in the group froze, breaths held as they turned to seek out the source of the sound. Lance silently picked up his bow and slid an arrow into place, eyes scanning the line of the next hill as if he could pry it for answers by glaring at it.

The meal forgotten, Hunk slowly stood up. Lance looked over at him, shooting him a warning glance to get back down, but it was if Hunk could not see him. His eyes were glazed and face blank, and he started to walk forward in the direction of the roar.

“Hunk get down!” Lance hissed. When his friend did not answer, he got up and rushed towards him, tugging him back by the arm, “Come on, what are you doing? We don’t want to scare it off, this might be the lion we’re looking for.”

Hunk slightly tilted his head towards him, eyes still locked straight ahead in the distance, “He’s not scared; he’s angry.”

“What?”

Suddenly, from over the hill, a beast charged into view. It was unlike anything Lance had seen before. Large as a horse, sharp claws made of iron and eyes searing gold, it bounded on gilded legs, back arched as it unleashed a roar from deep within. Lance’s jaw dropped.

Oh. Literally a golden lion.

Without thinking, his fingers twitched and an arrow launched itself towards the beast. It clanged harmlessly off the metal side, and the lion trained its focus on him, a growl building in its throat.

“Stop, stop, he’s my friend!”

Lance paused from loading another arrow to see Hunk standing far too close to the lion, arms held out as if presenting himself as a peace offering. Lance ran towards him. There was no way that beast was going to eat Hunk without going through him first.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, he’s just trying to protect me.” Hunk said, gesturing calmly for Lance to stop next to him.

“Protect you? That’s a lion! A giant golden lion that looks incredibly angry and ready to kill us. What happened to ‘being hunted’? The storm?”

Hunk turned to him and Lance could see that his eyes were no longer glazed or his expression eerily distant. This was the Hunk he knew, the one who he chatted with around the fire. The one he’d become fast friends with as they traveled to Rome. Except he looked happy, and more well-rested and relaxed than Lance had ever seen him during the hunt.

“Look, I can’t explain it, but I think this lion is somehow connected to something bigger.” Hunk shrugged, “I know it sounds crazy, but he seems pretty friendly around me so there’s no need for violence.”

Lance sighed and lowered his bow.

An arrow clanged against the lion’s side, and it growled, turning to look at Ulaz, who stood with another arrow already notched. The lion started to prowl closer to Ulaz, eyes piercing with a vengeful glint.

Despite Hunk’s pleas, neither lion nor Ulaz seemed to be listening, and it sprung forward with a loud roar. Ulaz’s bow snapped as it was swatted out of his hands, and he collapsed backwards as a heavy paw landed on top of him. Ulaz screamed, and the other men rushed forward to attack, offering pitiful war cries that were quickly silenced as the lion fended them off one by one. Hunk raced over to it and waved his arms, finally getting the lion’s attention as it looked ready to eat Ulaz.

“Put him down! Now!” Hunk shouted.

The lion whimpered but relinquished its catch. Ulaz landed hard on the ground and scurried back, eyeing the giant creature warily.

Hunk walked up to the lion, hands held out again in a peaceful gesture, “That’s it, settle down. They’re just scared, they’re not going to hurt you.”

Lance watched as the lion sat down, his brow furrowed, “So… if we can’t injure it, and we can’t trap it, how do we get it back to the emperor?”

“Melt it down for the gold and make a nice hunting trophy out of it?” Ulaz huffed.

“He can understand you, you know.” Hunk said.

“ _He_ this, _he_ that. What, do you have some sort of psychic connection with this thing?” Ulaz asked. He stood and brushed dirt off his tunic.

Hunk scratched his head, “Actually, yeah, sort of. I mean I get these feelings in the back of my head sometimes. It doesn’t make sense, but this is a giant impossible metal lion so I don’t think anything makes much sense right now.”

“We can at least agree on that.” Ulaz replied.

“Can we just ride this thing back to the emperor?” Lance asked, “If it likes Hunk maybe he can ask it to give us a lift and we can march through the main streets of Rome like victorious warriors!”

“While I can’t say I approve of your flair for the dramatic, I do see merit in your suggestion.” Ulaz tapped his chin, “Will the lion go with us peacefully?”

Hunk frowned and looked up at the creature. He closed his eyes and squirmed, eventually walked right up to it and placing his hands on the lion’s legs. Still, nothing. He turned back to the group, “Sorry, I guess this mental connection only goes one way. And he hasn’t reacted to you saying it so… I’m out of ideas.”

The lion suddenly stood up, causing the men to take a few steps back and instinctively draw their weapons. The lion released a low growl but otherwise seemed to ignore the hunters, ears perked as if listening for something. It then hunched down and allowed Hunk to climb onto its back. Lance let out a whoop and clambered on as well, but when Ulaz got close the lion stood again and turned, bounding off the way it came.

Lance shrieked and grabbed for what should have been fur, but his hands met only slippery metal. He leaned forward and latched onto Hunk’s tunic, praying to the gods that he would not die on the back of some otherworldly creature that ran like a howling wind. He tried to look over his shoulder but Ulaz and the others were no longer within sight. The lion was taking them somewhere, but neither he nor Hunk had any idea where.

And it occurred to him then, clutching to his friend’s belt with hair blowing in his eyes, that he might not see his family or fields again. He may never even see the mortal world. 


End file.
